Fair Game
by electrakitty74
Summary: More Angel backstory yeah, I know WARNED for mm foreplay, sexual discussion, though nothing else.


**Title: **Fair Game  
**Author:** Sarah  
**Feedback:** Love it, please leave it. . .positive or negative  
**Pairing: **Angel/OC  
**Word Count: **839  
**Rating: **R  
**Genre: **Ummm. . .I dunno  
**Summary: **Just more Ang backstory  
**Notes: **  
**Special Thanks: ** **theprophecygirl**  
**Spoilers: **  
**Warnings: **A little implied "Foreplay." Prostitution is also implied  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own her, she owns me.

Angel picked her way through drunken, horny, mainly middle-aged jerks, headed for the bar. If she was gonna have to deal with assholes pawing her tonight, she planned to be drunk for it. _Great,_ she noted. _There's another one passed out on the table._ Across the room, she caught Micah's eye and pointed at the guy, moving on. The bouncer rolled his eyes and headed toward where the small drag queen had indicated. It was par for the course on a Saturday night. The Red Ring was sleazy, she had learned, but on the weekends. . . "Ugh." She didn't really realize the sound had come from her mouth, thought she'd only thought it, but it wasn't like it mattered. The music was too loud for anyone to hear anything she'd said anyway. She began making her way toward the bar again, but her progress was stopped by a pair of hands which seemed to come from nowhere to wrap around her waist. Before she knew it, she was sitting, rough stubble against her shoulder and neck, a man's hands on her chest, caressing her 'breasts' as if they were real.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" His words made her skin crawl. She was beginning to really hate men.

"Am I?" she asked softly, her voice carefully calculated to be just loud enough over the ambient noise. Expertly, she leaned her head to the side, hiding the grimace of revulsion, pretending that his words, his touch was turning her on. She had been told she was beautiful almost every night since she'd come here a little more than two years ago, even more so in the past several months, and she always said the same thing. Men seemed to want the innocence in her, that innocence which matched her eyes, but which she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd give anything to feel that way again, to have back what she'd thrown at that boy in the car so many years ago. But regret was pointless. All there was was now, and that was becoming an increasingly depressing thought. Now sucked. Now was about games and pain and pretending to be someone she was not. The other girls didn't seem to share Angel's unhappiness, or if they did they were aces at hiding it. Truth was, Angel knew who and what she was; knew that there was more for her . . . somewhere.

Angel's disgust with him only deepened when he grabbed her hips and began rubbing her ass against what felt like a giant erection. This time she managed to avoid voicing her revulsion, but she always feared that one day she would tell some trick exactly what she felt about him, and would lose the only job she'd probably ever be able to do. She turned her groan of disgust quickly into a moan of pleasure and if he noticed, he sure as hell wasn't showing it, at least not to her. "You wanna go out back?" she asked, squealing a little as his teeth sank into her bare shoulder. At least it wasn't cold out there now, in fact had been pretty hot this week. Being bare-assed in an alley was bad enough, but when it was cold on top of that. . . She was distracted from her thoughts by his hand snaking up her thigh, working its way under her short skirt. "Enough," she said, her tone a little harder-edged than it should have been, her grin flirtatious as she took his wrist and moved his hand away. She knew he wasn't touching her that way to give her pleasure. It was the novelty that what he knew should be there wasn't. That or feeling like he was getting away with something, one of the two. Truth be known, Angel didn't care which it was. "So," she said coquettishly, meeting his eyes, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "Are we going or not?"

"Thought you might want to," he said, grinning wolfishly at her. God, she hated that look: pure unadulterated desire. It did nothing for her.

_Hell no,_ her brain insisted, the thought never crossing her eyes.

"I do," was what came out of her mouth. "But you gotta talk to Pietro first. He insists."

"Thought we might keep this between us."

"Sorry, honey," Angel told him sweetly. "Pietro'd kill me if I tried that."

"He wouldn't have to know," the man pleaded quickly.

"But he'd find out," Angel told him, the edge coming back to her voice. He was wearing out her patience fast. "No pay, no play, honey," she said, wishing she'd never heard that phrase.

"But I don't. . ."

Angel didn't let him finish that sentence. She stood quickly and caught Micah's eye again, indicating the guy. Watching the pair of bouncers bodily toss him onto the street was the single best thing that had happened all night. She was done. Her drink long since forgotten, Angel headed back to her dressing room to take off her makeup.


End file.
